It's a Wolf Thing by Mina Carter & Chance Masters Page B

shattered morale. But then…that could be why he got his own card, couldn’t it?
    For a moment the image of Dale in her finery hung in his mind. It was obvious that she had no issues with going out and finding someone…that wasn’t him. He shrugged the thought off and yanked open a drawer to look for a clean shirt.
    “Fuck.”
    New plan.
    He waded through the debris field of his room to the closet and pulled it open. A small trunk sat in a dusty corner, ignored for months. He crouched and flipped it open. It contained old belongings that had no place in this new life of war and survival. Belongings that came from a time when life seemed more complicated, but happy in its own way too. He had Cain, and they both had Dale. He’d never forget the day it all ended in a flash of brimstone and light. It was the day he’d asked Dale to meet him at the old oak. He’d planned to ask her out, but God and Lucifer had other designs.
    Like the end of the world.
    His hand paused for a moment over a garment-storage bag inside. His old formal wear. Lord, he wasn’t considering it…was he? It was the only clean thing he had. Hell, he didn’t even know if it would still fit him. A sigh escaped him as he shrugged and pulled it out to hold at full length.
    “Here goes nothing.”
    Fifteen minutes later, he was fully dressed and snappy enough to give any pre-apocalypse secret agent a run for his money. He bent down and used the busted mirror by the door to adjust his bow tie.
    “Relax Spence. It’s just for fun.”
    He flicked the corners of the tie and nodded; he looked as good as he was going to get at least. The confidence lasted all of the few seconds it took to step out of his room, and then he just felt stupid. He seldom went out not ready to spill blood. Not that now was any different. There were no less than three hidden blades on him, and a pull-out .45 was tucked in an ankle holster. Sure he was a Lycan, but the toys were always fun. They were also handy as fuck for zombies.
    He couldn’t stop the shiver before it swept up his back.
    He hated zombies.
     
    The red dress. She’d worn the red dress.
    Dale Foxx stood in front of the picture window of the hotel room the Fae key had led her to and looked out, but she wasn’t seeing the ruined buildings around her or the deserted street below. No point in looking at them; she’d only see random local patrols and the odd human scavenging in the ruins of a world long gone.
    Instead she looked at her reflection, a mere ghost in the pane but enough for her to make out the important details. Dark hair piled up to expose the delicate curve of her neck. The makeup she rarely wore these days accentuated her features…not that her “date” would be looking at her face, not with the way she was poured into the dress.
    It was tighter than it had been when she’d bought it all those years ago, intending to gather her courage and ask Spence to dinner. Or a movie. Anything, she hadn’t cared. The point wasn’t where they went, but to spend time with him and get him to see they could be more than friends. But she’d bottled it, and the red dress had sat in its cover since.
    Wriggling, she tried to smooth it lower over her thighs. She’d packed on lean, toned muscle in the years between purchase and now, and the split up the left thigh revealed the trailing edge of an old scar. Would her date be bothered about scars?
    She bit her lip. God, she hoped not. Six months on the front line, fighting day in and day out, had ensured her body looked like a road map. Wolves healed faster than most, which was the reason the General used Dale and her kind for shock troops, but even so, demon wounds scarred like a bitch. And don’t get her started on the damage those bastard angels could hand out.
    There was a rap on the door, and she froze. Oh shit, he was here. She wasn’t ready. For a moment she stood in front of the window and gauged the leap to the ground. She shouldn’t be here. She’d